


The One With The Roommates

by liionne



Series: The One With The Housemates [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Minor Mentions of Violence, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, is this a friends AU?, kind of, minor mentions of blood, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: Steve needs roommates. Yes - roommates. He never thought the day would come when he needed a roommate, because he figured he would either live with his mother, live in a dorm, or live alone his entire life, but here he is, walking from coffee shop to coffee shop, posting an advert in each one and hoping to god that no one creepy will answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started this in January and only just finished it now, so I apologise if it's a little... patchy. i just really wanted to introduce this AU, which is definitely going to be a series, and most likely going to be Friends based, or at least inspired by!
> 
> I've updated this since posting the original - thanks to Tyler at [findthefanfic](http://findthefanfic.tumblr.com) for being my new beta!

Steve needs roommates. Yes - roommates. He never thought the day would come when he needed a roommate, because he figured he would either live with his mother, live in a dorm, or live alone his entire life, but here he is, walking from coffee shop to coffee shop, posting an advert in each one and hoping to god that no one creepy will answer.

See, the thing is, he has to move. He would quite happily continue to live in the crumbling little apartment on the 5th floor of the crumbling little apartment block he had moved into when he had left college, but they were tearing down the buildings around there and putting up new ones - and the new ones were going to be so much more expensive. And take a hell of a long time to build. So Steve needed somewhere to go, and fast.

But he had lived in that apartment block because it was cheap. Dirt cheap. As cheap as one could reasonably hope for in Brooklyn, a neighborhood which was becoming more and more gentrified by the day, and breaking Steve's heart in the process.

He had managed to find a place in the same neighborhood that wasn't being torn down, but it was expensive. Seriously, heart-attack-inducingly expensive. But it was nice. And it was in the right neighborhood. And so he was going to rent it... once ha had found some people to rent it with.

Once he's done handing out all of the fliers, he collapses onto Sam's sofa, which has become his make-shift home until he can find people to move into the apartment he had featured in the ad. He had the realtor's word that if he could find two or three other people to live in it, it would be his - she'd been a friend of his mother's back in the day. He was entitled to certain privileges.

"Y'know," Sam says, putting on his coat as he stands by the front door. He has a fucking coat stand. No - a hat stand? Is that what they're called? Pottery barn, man. "If you had just accepted the notice they gave you first time round you wouldn't be sleeping on my couch right now. You could already be in a new place."

Steve just scoffs. He's tired. His little feet have carried his little body all over Brooklyn today. Well. He caught the bus a few times too. A lot of times.

Realizing that Sam is getting ready to go out, Steve sits up, frowning. He had been hoping that after his excursion(s), Sam would be up for a beer and a movie. Maybe even pizza. Which Steve would pay for!

"Where are you going?" He asks.

Sam arches his eyebrows as he puts on his scarf, wrapping himself up to go out. "Drinks with friends." He answers. When Steve looks puzzled, he adds, "I have a life outside of you, Steve. And I did tell you. The number for the pizza place is on the notice board in the kitchen, save me some. I won't be back too late."

And with that, he's gone, and Steve groans. He ends up falling asleep, pizza-less and roommate-less.

~*~

Steve gets a call about the apartment a whole 17 hours after posting the very last advertisement for it, and honestly, he's surprised, by both the 7 am phone call and the speedy answer. Maybe Sam was right - he should have done this months ago and then he'd already be in the new place.

"Hello, is this Steve?" The voice on the other end of the line says. The tone is clipped; British. Steve blinks, still groggy and a little confused. "My name is Peggy Carter. I'm inquiring about the apartment?"

"Uh - yeah." Steve husks, blinking slowly. Shit. Coffee. He gets up, stumbling to the kitchen. Sam is a well put together, well-adjusted adult. He should have coffee. "Did you -- did you have any questions?"

"Not many, no." The voice - Peggy - says, as Steve clatters around in the kitchen trying to find a mug. He does know where they're at when he's awake and functioning. Currently, though, he's pretty dead. "I was just wondering if we could view the apartment? Or if I could, I suppose, if you wouldn't be there."

"I'm sure I can--" He pulls a mug out from one of the cupboards, and then begins to fumble with the coffee maker. "--arrange that, yes. I'll be there, of course."

"Well, that was the other thing. I'd quite like to go for a coffee or something like that." Peggy says. "Make sure we're well suited to one another."

"Of course," Steve says. He takes a sip of the coffee, and even though it burns the top layer of taste buds from his tongue, it's damn good. "When are you free?"

"This time tomorrow?" Peggy suggests. She doesn't like to wait around, evidently.

Steve, leaning against the kitchen counter, far away from wherever Peggy is, nods. He then realizes his mistake, and says, "Yeah - I mean, wait-- maybe nine, tomorrow? If that's alright?"

"Perfect," Peggy responds. "I'll see you then. Goodbye, Steve."

Steve murmurs his goodbye, the line going dead at the other end. Well, he thinks, sipping his (Sam's) coffee. This is going pretty well already.

~*~

The next call comes in the afternoon, when Steve is out in the park, sketching. He's probably going to give himself a cold or something, and Sam would probably sigh if he could see him, but luckily, he can't. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

His phone vibrates on the park bench beside him, threatening to fall through one of the gaps in the metal bars. He reaches for it, frowning at the unknown number before he remembers, falling out of his reverie and putting the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi - is this Steve? Steve Rogers?"

It's another female voice, this one lower, American but not a New Yorker, not from Brooklyn. It's hard to place, like one of those accents a British actor puts on, generic and not entirely real, however convincing.

"Yeah, this is Steve." He says, hoping he sounds polite. Like someone, a person might want to live with. Before he can ask if she's inquiring about the apartment, she says, "I saw your ad, for the apartment. I move around a lot and I need a base in New York - I was wondering if I could see the place and decide if it's for me?"

Steve shifts the sketchbook on his lap. She sounds mysterious. Someone who travels a lot? Needs a base? "Yeah, of course - I'm meeting someone else who wants to see the apartment tomorrow, for coffee. I was gonna take her straight from there to the apartment if you wanted to come?"

There's no hesitation on the other end of the line. "Of course. Details?"

Steve gives her the time, and the place, and says he'll meet her there. Before they can end the conversation, she says, "I have a friend who's interested as well. Mind if I bring him along?"

Him? God, Steve hoped they weren't a thing. Living with a couple would be awful, right? What if he walked in on them making out? What if they were just there, cluttering up his space, reminding him of how single he is?

"'Course not." He says, as sunshiney as ever. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

"See you then." The mystery woman says before Steve can think to ask for her name. He pauses, his phone in his hand, sketchbook, and pencil balanced precariously on his knee, before he texts Sam, telling him that he's practically got his entire apartment sorted. In a day. A day. God, he should've done this sooner.

He ambles back to Sam's apartment and flopped down on the sofa. He's done some good work today. He thinks he deserves a nap - and some more of Sam's coffee.

~*~

In the morning, he's actually up and dressed earlier than Sam is (if only because he has a late start today). The truth of it is that he's excited; he wants to get this apartment thing nailed down, so he can gather up the deposit from the rest of them and get moved in, and out from under Sam's feet. He knows that Sam loves him, but he doesn't think that love is unconditional, at least not as long as Steve keeps stealing his coffee and leftovers.

When Sam does emerge from his room at 8 am, in a respectable looking shirt and tie, he gives a whistle. "Well look at you, wearing actual clothes and brushing your hair. It's a good look for you."

"Ha ha," Steve responds, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He's packed it full of things - some sketches and his tablet for work, his wallet, the papers relating to the apartment (photographs and a copy of the contract and the suchlike). He's excited, and he wants to get out, even if that means being an hour early.

The coffee shop isn't too far from Sam's place, and Steve sets himself up in a table close to the window, so he can watch people pass by and wonder if any of them are going to stop in and ask him about the Very Nice Apartment he wants to put a deposit down on.

He does actually get some work done, but the closer they get to nine o'clock, the more he stops working and starts looking around, shuffling papers and wondering if, every time the door opens, the next person stepping into the shop will be the very mysterious Peggy Carter, or the even more mysterious woman-with-no-name, and her mysterious friend.

At nine o'clock on the dot the door swings open, and Steve looks up to see a woman in a dark pencil skirt and blazer, her shirt collar bright white, her dark hair perfectly curled, entering the shop. She gets herself an espresso and looks around, and when her dark eyes land on Steve (he blushes), she makes her way over.

"You're Steve, aren't you? Steve Rogers?" She asks, and Steve recognizes her voice almost immediately; she's the less mysterious Peggy Carter. He stands, and holds out his hand for her to shake because that seems proper, doesn't it?

"I am, yeah. It's nice to meet you, Peggy." He says. He would've gone with Ms. Carter, or ma'am, but if all goes to plan, they're going to be living together sooner rather than later. People who live together are generally on first name terms.

He sits down again, and she follows suit; he's chosen a table for four, of course, because they're expecting two more. Since Peggy doesn't know that, it's what he leads with. "I hope you don't mind, there are two other people coming this morning. They're both interested, and they didn't want to hang around. I thought it might save us all some time if we all met up today."

"I don't mind at all." Peggy smiles, and however important and almost scary she had sounded on the phone, that smile makes her seem a lot more friendly. It relaxes Steve a lot, actually - not all the way, of course, because he can never fully relax around pretty people, but still. He's not worried anymore. "I would've done the same thing."

Just as she says that two people walk in, one with flame-red hair, the other clad in a dark leather jacket, his hair tied in a knot at the base of his neck, loose enough for a few strands to be falling into his face. And that distracts Steve, actually; it distracts him a lot. He gets even more distracted when they begin walking towards their table, the girl in the lead, both of them now clutching take-out cups. "Steve Rogers?" The girl asks, and Steve nods. Once again, he stands, though Peggy remains seated, looking up at the two of them.

"Yeah." Steve nods, holding out his hand for each of them to shake. The redhead has a startling firm grip; the guy's hand is calloused, rough. Steve briefly thinks of where else he might like to feel that hand, before he internally smacks himself and says, "I'm sorry, I don't think I asked for your names on the phone."

"Natasha Romanov." Natasha smiles, moving and taking a seat as Steve takes his own. "And this is James."

"Bucky," James says like the name James pains him. "Bucky Barnes." He says to Steve, gray eyes settling on Steve. Steve looks away quickly, down at his papers. As if his cheeks weren't pink enough to begin with.

"Um, I have some photos of the apartment, and I've put the rent and the bills and stuff at the bottom - it's empty, so if we want to go see it this morning, we can. It's not far from here, actually. Walking distance."

He hands out sheets of paper to each of them; he feels so organised, like he's got his shit together (which he didn't, for a while, and he doesn't really now, but still, he looks like it), and his new potential roommates look them over, nodding a little.

"It's nice," Peggy remarks.

"And it's not too expensive," Natasha adds.

"Not between four." Bucky continues, the three of them reading before they all look at Steve, expectant.

"We can go see it now?" Natasha says, and Steve gives a little nod.

~*~

He calls the agent, Val, to come and unlock the door for them. She hangs around in the hall, letting them have a look. Steve likes the apartment for many reasons: first of all, the rooms are all the same size, pretty much. There'll be no squabbling over who gets the smallest room and who gets the biggest; they'll all just be happy. Second, it has a big kitchen - big kitchens mean they won't be stealing each other's things or battling for space. They might even all be able to cook at the same time. And then there's little things, like the squishy sofa and the hardwood floors, the little utility room with the washing machine and drier, and the fact that it has a working elevator out front.

"Well?" Steve asks once they've all had a good look around. "What do you think?"

"When can we move in?" Bucky says, and he gives a grin that makes Steve's knees weak but has him grinning all the same.

~*~

Sam helps him move his stuff in, because Steve doesn't have a car, but he does have a lot of stuff.

"Man, this place is nice." Sam says as he carries a box labeled Art Supplies into Steve's room. It's the last box to be brought up - Steve and The Gang (as Sam has been referring to them) went four ways on some kitchen supplies, so they were already set up, and Peggy moved in the day before; Steve waited for her to go out to work before he started tramping in and out, like the considerate roommate he is. Or plans to be, anyway.

"When do the other two move in?" Sam asks.

"Right now." Natasha says, a box in one arm, Bucky behind her carrying two. Two boxes. Steve can see his biceps flexing beneath his sweatshirt, and he's starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. Natasha shifts her box to one arm, Bucky moving off into his room down the hall. It's opposite Steve's which can't be a good thing, but he hasn't thought about it too much yet. "Natasha. You must be Sam."

"Steve's talking about me?" Sam asks, and Steve squints at him. He's giving Natasha that smile, that smile he only gives to people when he's flirting, trying to charm them. And Sam is a naturally charming guy, he doesn't need to be extra charming, but there it is. That smile. The smile that no one can resist. "I hope he hasn't been trash talking me."

Natasha smiles back at him in a way that Steve hasn't seen yet, her lips twitching to one side, pursed as if she's part of some inside joke. "He's had only good things to say." She says, and Steve squints. They're flirting. Are they flirting?

"Nat," Bucky says, interrupting their little exchange as he comes down the hall. "Want me to grab some of your boxes?"

"No, I'm good." She replies, stepping away from Sam, towards the hall. "I'll see you around, Mr. Wilson."

"I hope so." Sam responds. Steve elbows him as Natasha heads down to her room, glaring up at him.

"No seducing my roommates." He snaps, and Sam chuckles.

"I can't help it if I'm irresistible." He says, and he looks around the place once more. "Do you need any help unpacking?"

"No, thanks - I'll manage." Steve says. "Thanks, Sam." He adds because he really is grateful for his friend's help, and for the rest. "Y'know - for everything. For letting me stay, and helping me find this place, and--"

"Don't sweat it." Sam says, shaking his head. "I know you'd do the same for me if it was the other way round."

"Always." Steve nods. He means it, too. He's about to continue this sappy exchange before he looks to the door and sees Bucky entering with only one box this time, looking between the two of them. "Hey." He says, and he smiles. "Sam, wasn't it?"

He reaches out to shake Sam's hand, and Steve gets to thinking about those hands again, and... yeah, not good. Not good at all.

Sam must know that Steve has zoned out and is thinking about something unsavory, because when they both look to Steve as if their conversation has led them to the topic of Steve Rogers, Sam gives a rather knowing look. Steve flounders for a second, gaze sticking on Bucky. "Sorry, what?"

"Does he always do that?" Bucky says to Sam, his lips twisted in a crooked, teasing smile. "Look into the distance like he's having a That's So Raven-esque vision?"

"Only under certain circumstances." Sam smirks, and Steve glares at him with as much might as a guy pushing 5'5" can.

"I was just asking why you two weren't rooming together." Bucky says, looking to Steve once more.

Sam is still smirking. "And I said it's because you're a horrible roommate, a thief, an arsonist, and I actually, secretly hate you."

"That makes me sound kind of cool." Steve says. "Steve Rogers: Thief, Arsonist, Horrible Roommate."

Bucky laughs, and it sends a tingle down Steve's spine, as does the look that Bucky gives him after - there's a glint in his eye, some kind of sparkle that maybe Steve would recognize if he knew him better. Oh, this is bad. This is going to be so, so bad. "I'll make sure to lock my door when I'm not around." He grins, before looking to Sam and giving a nod. "I'll see you around." He says, heading off down to his room.

Sam watches him go and then turns to Steve. "You're screwed."

"I'm screwed." Steve agrees with a sigh.

Sam claps him on the shoulder and heads for the door. "Keep me updated." He says. "I want to hear all about this." He grins as he leaves, raising one hand in a wave.

Steve huffs, listening for a moment, listening to Bucky's whistling as he goes about unpacking his boxes. Sam's right. He's screwed. And not even in the way he wants to be.

With that cheery thought, he goes to his room and begins to unpack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, time for a disclaimer: Steve has nothing against cats. He isn't allergic (though you'd think he would be, since he's allergic to everything else), and he isn't frightened of them. He actually thinks they're kind of cool. 
> 
> But their apartment has a strict no-pet policy, and the last thing Steve wants to do is get kicked out or lose their deposit or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so just a note: I decided to add what was the second part of this series as a second chapter, to make my own life easier. There will be another chapter up soon, so stay tuned!

The first month passes without a hitch. Peggy seems to keep regular hours, leaving early and returning in the late evening; Natasha seems to work all day, often leaving before Steve is up and not returning until the late hours of the night,  or  the wee hours of the morning, when Bucky comes home - he works in a bar not far from the apartment, leaving late and coming home even later. Steve watches them come and go; he works from home, occasionally heading into the office once or twice a week to speak to his boss.

He may only head into work for a few hours every week, but he does tend to go every day, at the same time. On Thursdays he wakes early (for him) and heads out across town, not coming back until lunchtime. Bucky usually isn't awake; he doesn't wake up until the afternoons, when he leaves his room in varying states of undress, his hair usually down and messy, and--

Well, Steve hasn't really being looking.

But on this Thursday his boss is out of town, meaning that he gets to spend another day in the apartment. Working from home doesn't mean he spends  all  day in there - he goes out sometimes. He goes to Sam's, or he goes to the park. He's been out for coffee with Peggy quite a few times since they moved in together, too. He gets out. But on this particular day, he can't really be bothered; he wants to lounge around in his pajamas, thank you very much.

About mid-morning he heads out of his room, bleary eyed, in a too-big t-shirt that belonged to a guy he dated in college, and with his hair sticking up on one side. He doesn't really care. Natasha and Peggy are both out, and Bucky is asleep, so he heads to the kitchen with little care for his own personal appearance.

But, upon getting there, he stops. He blinks. He needs coffee, or maybe he just needs to wake up again, because Bucky is standing in the kitchen in nothing but his underwear, and there's a cat rubbing around his ankles, putting its little paws up on the counters and mewling excitedly.

Now, time for a disclaimer: Steve has nothing against cats. He isn't allergic (though you'd think he would be, since he's allergic to everything else), and he isn't frightened of them. He actually thinks they're kind of cool.

But their apartment has a strict no-pet policy, and the  last  thing Steve wants to do is get kicked out or lose their deposit or something.

"What - what is that?" Steve asks, blinking, rubbing his eyes. He doesn't know which is  worst : the fact that there's a cat in their no-cats-allowed apartment, or that Bucky is looking at him with dark eyes that are still a little sleepy, his hair loose and his (very toned) body on display.

Bucky smirks, and Steve cringes, just a little. Ah, right. He probably looks pretty comical like now. Either that, or like a thirteen year old girl with a page boy haircut. Probably both.

"Why it's a cat, Rogers." Bucky says, and Steve  rolls  his eyes. Bucky continues regardless. "They're small, furry carnivorous mammals. Don't worry, she won't eat your toes."

"I know what a cat is." Steve gripes as he reaches for his coffee, the cat looking at him and mewling noisily.

"You asked." Bucky chuckles, opening a can of tuna and putting it on a plate, setting it on the floor for the cat. It (she) mewls again, before going silent as it munches on its breakfast.

"We aren't allowed pets." Steve says, not an accusation, just a reminder. He isn't being rude about it - or he's trying not to be, anyway.

Bucky turns to lean against the counter, his arms folded over his chest. The way the sunlight is filtering in through the kitchen window makes him look almost ethereal, his skin lightly golden, soft looking. Steve would love to draw him like this, but that's a bit of a weird request, for two people who are still just getting to know each other.

"It's not my cat. It's  a  cat." Bucky says. "It wouldn't stop meowing at my window a few nights ago so I let it in, in case it was hurt or something."

"A few  nights  ago?" Steve blinks. "It's been here all that time?"

"No! No, it comes and goes. And it's a she, thank you." Bucky adds, looking down at the cat. It doesn't look like some of the more feral ones Steve has seen roaming the back alleys of Brooklyn, so he supposes it could be worse. "And I've only fed it, like, three times. Maybe four. No - three. I went to feed it but it ran away yesterday."

Steve sighs, and he looks down at the cat. It licks the plate clean, and then meows at them again, before scampering off down the hall and into Bucky's room, where Steve assumes it heads out  onto  the fire escape to go about its business.

"How come you aren't out today, anyway?" Bucky asks. He looks Steve up and down, and Steve is suddenly aware of the fact that he forewent pajama pants last night, his pale, knobbly knees on display for the entire world to see. "It's  T hursday , right?"

"My boss is out of town, no point in me going in." Steve shrugs, sipping his coffee.

Bucky squints a little, his head tilting. "I never asked - what do you do?"

"I'm an illustrator." Steve answers, rubbing the back of his neck. "My boss gives me the brief and some things to work off for a client, and I do my best to give 'em what they want."

Bucky nods slowly, like he's interested, and it gives Steve the courage to ask, "I can show you what I'm working off now, if you want?"

"Sure." Bucky smiles. "Hang on, though - I gotta make sure the cat isn't hiding in my underwear drawer."

Steve gives a little nod; he could use this opportunity to go and put some pants on, but instead he watches Bucky walk away, because - well, he doesn't have to explain himself to anyone.

Once he's gone, though, Steve does put his mug down, and all but sprints to his room. He pulls on a pair of trousers, tries to hastily make his bed, and when he hears Bucky call his name from down the hall, he pokes his head out of the door.

"In here!" He calls back, wondering now if it's weird that he put pants on, like had had been uncomfortable before, or something. He tries not to think about it; he tries to tidy the place up a little bit more before the door opens, and Bucky steps in - thankfully, now also wearing a pair of checked pajama pants.

Steve moves to his desk, and Bucky follows suit, standing close behind him and peering over his shoulder (or the top of his head, but - yeah. Steve's not thinking about that). "Wow." Bucky says, sounding genuinely awed as he looks down at Steve's sketches and mock-ups; the real thing is on the computer, of course, but it's not too much different from what's been put down on paper. "What's it for?" He asks.

"An e-book. It's about some kind of dystopian future, I think. I haven't read it." He answers earnestly, earning a soft chuckle from Bucky, still looking over his shoulder.

"And this is all you? Like - did he give you a brief or anything?" Bucky asks, looking at Steve, evidently impressed.

"Oh, yeah. They tell me what they want, and they give me any reference images they have. I'm not a mind reader." Steve says, looking up at Bucky and grinning a little.

Bucky smiles, his eyes on the paper, quiet for a second. He's close to Steve,  close  enough that Steve can feel the warmth seeping off his skin, smell the soft, sleepy scent he carries with him. For a second, he doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, feeling Bucky's chest rise and fall gently against his back. And then, like a trance has been broken, Bucky pulls back, and he smiles. "It's really good." He says with a nod. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Steve murmurs, blushing just a little. In truth, he knows that he's good - he does have some confidence in his abilities. But it's still nice to receive a compliment.

There's another moment of silence, wherein Bucky looks at him curiously. But then he yawns, and he smiles a little, as if he's laughing at himself. "I'm gonna head back to bed. I have to be at work in like - eight hours."

"And you need your beauty sleep, of course." Steve jokes, before  reali z ing  what he's said. Was it dangerously close to flirting, or will he think nothing of it?

Bucky puts a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded, Rogers." He says, sounding hurt, though he's grinning as he leaves. Steve lets him go, watching him close the door quietly behind him.

Fuck.

~*~

On a  S aturday , Bucky is out for longer - the bar is open pretty much all day, so he heads out in the mid afternoon. Peggy isn't at work, so she and Steve head down to the coffee shop together, taking up their table in the corner.

In the month he's known Peggy, the two of them have grown quite close - it's like they've known each other for years, or in some kind of past life. He feels like he can talk to her about anything which is why, when they sit down, he clears his throat and begins, "Peggy, do you... do you know if Bucky is seeing anyone?"

She frowns a little, sipping her cappuccino. "I don't think he is. At least, he's never mentioned anyone. A month is a long time not to mention someone."

Steve nods slowly. "And do you think... do you think, maybe, he, um... he likes..."

"Oh, Steve," She says, in a way that is somewhat pitiful, somewhat disappointed. "Steve, you can't go there. You're friends, you live together."

Steve nods. He's aware of that. He knows fine well that they're friends and roommates and that if it went wrong it would be awkward, and one of them might move out and the rest would be in trouble--

"I'm not, I'm not," He lies, shaking his head. "I was just... curious. Just curious."

Peggy's painted red lips purse, and she gives a small nod. "Alright. Just... I wouldn't, Steve. I'm a bit of a romantic, but even I know that it would likely only end in tears."

Steve nods somewhat sullenly, and sips his coffee. He could talk to Sam about it, but Sam would very likely say the same thing - he was a rational guy, after all.

"If you'd like, though, I could set you up." Peggy says, arching her eyebrows. "I know a few people you might like."

"Uh - no, thanks. I'm okay on my own, just now, and anyway--" He says, and smiles. "I've had bad experiences with blind dates before."

Peggy gives that pursed-lip look that she does when she disapproves of something, but not of Steve, and Steve just shrugs his shoulders. He's quite happy on his own, yeah. Quite happy on his own, thinking about Bucky.

~*~

Steve can't sleep. His chest feels tight and his back is sore, and he can't seem to keep his eyes shut. His bed feels too big and too hot, the sheets feeling heavy, and itchy on his skin. He doesn't see the point in sitting around, trying to fall asleep, so he gets up, and grabs his sketchbook, and goes into the living room.

He turns the lamp on by the sofa, and then turns the  TV  on; three am television seems to consist only of Gilmore Girls reruns, so he puts that on and gets to sketching.

At first he doesn't sketch anything much; he stars  practi c ing  hands in different positions, plays with shading and lighting. He then goes on to jawlines and chins, and then cheekbones, and then looks down at the page to see Bucky's face looking back at him, hair messy and around his face, looking like he's just woken up. And yeah, it's a skill being able to draw something from memory like that, but he wishes it wasn't something so embarrassing.

He hears a key turn in the lock, and he looks up, waiting as the door closes again, and someone walks in. Of course, it can only be one person; Bucky pokes his head into the living room, and Steve swiftly changes the page on his sketchbook, so as not to be caught in the act.

"Hey - what're you doing up? It's late." Bucky says, stepping into the room.

"Or it's early." Steve argues. "Depending on how you look at it."

Bucky chuckles softly, and he edges more into the room, eventually coming to sit down on the sofa. "What're you watching?" He asks, looking from Steve to the TV.

"Gilmore Girls." Steve answers. "Rory just got invited to Dean's wedding."

"Oh." Bucky murmurs. "I never liked Dean. More of a Jess guy."

Steve smirks, looking down at the piece of paper he's working on, where he had began sketching hands again, a distraction. "Is it the leather jacket and the dark brooding looks, or his bad boy attitude?"

"Combination of all three." Bucky grins, leaning back on the sofa, eyes still settled on the television. "Although, Jess has got nothing on Lucas Scott."

Steve arches an eyebrow, questioning, and Bucky looks horrified. "Lucas Scott. Chad Michael Murray. One Tree Hill?"

Steve looks sheepish. "Never seen it." He admits, to which Bucky gasps.

"Okay, well, you have to. Lucas Scott changed my little fourteen year old life." He says, and Steve chuckles softly. Bucky looks over at him, and grins. "I'm sure I have the box sets at my mom's house, or something. He'll change your entire world view. Or not, y'know. If you--"

Steve gives a little, fast nod. He hadn't  reali z ed  where this conversation was going until it was already there. "Might not change much for me." he says, and blushes. "But I'm game, regardless."

Bucky gives a little nod, and turns back to face the television. In the glow from the set his cheeks look a little pink, and Steve wishes he had the pastels to capture such a  colour  - especially seeing as, when he looks down, he finds he's being drawing Bucky once again.

~*~

His insomnia continues. He finds himself up at three am a lot more, and thus, he encounters Bucky a lot more. For the first three nights, they watch Gilmore Girl reruns and gossip about the characters. On the fourth night Bucky comes in, goes to his room, and returns to the living room. He puts a DVD into the player, and sits down next to Steve; over the nights they've spent on the sofa together he's moved closer and closer to Steve, supposedly so that the two of them can whisper together, but Steve kind of hopes it's something more than that.

There's a menu, and then a sequence of teenagers and young adults in questionable noughties attire, smiling at each other and playing basketball and looking generally attractive. Steve blinks, and looks at Bucky. "One Tree Hill?" He asks.

Bucky grins, and looks to Steve, putting his arm over the back of the couch, almost around Steve's shoulders. "Gonna change your life all over again." He whispers, and Steve  rolls  his eyes, but he's holding back a smirk as he turns his gaze to the screen.

~*~

He wakes up in the morning draped in a blanket, Bucky's hoodie jacket tucked under his head for a pillow. It smells nice, and for a moment he burrows into it, before he feels something standing on his stomach, walking up to his chest, and then his face--

The cat mewls right at him, opening its maw to reveal needle-like little teeth, and questionable breath.

Steve swats at it, his nose wrinkling. "Go away, you don't even live here." he groans, rolling over onto his side.

"Mrs. Whiskers." Bucky hisses from the hall, causing Steve to sit up, and frown, rubbing his face where the cat had stood on it. After a moment, he stands, and he inches into the hallway. Moving down to the kitchen, he watches as Bucky grabs another can of tuna, and plates it up.

"Mrs. Whiskers?" He asks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well  well , if it isn't sleeping beauty in the flesh." Bucky grins. "You missed a topless scene - I'm more than willing to go back and rewatch it tonight, don't worry."

Steve grins, before clamping down on it and frowning. "Mrs. Whiskers?" He repeats. "I thought it wasn't a pet?"

"She's not." Bucky says, watching the cat as she eats; she acts like she's never been fed, wolfing it down, making soft swallowing noises as she goes. "But I feel bad calling her "cat" all the time."

Steve  rolls  his eyes. He reaches for the coffee, but Bucky passes him a mug before he can, his fingertips brushing Steve's as he passes it over. Steve tries to brush it off, but when he looks up at Bucky he's blushing a little, his gaze cast down.

"So," Steve says and clears his throat. "A topless scene?"

"Uh huh." Bucky says, and he grins, looking at Steve once more. "I won't let you miss out on it, don't you worry."

Steve chuckles, and looks at the clock. He could get up, and work, but he got more sleep last night than he has done all week. "I'll be waiting." He says, smiling as he moves off to his room, wishing he had Bucky's jacket to rest his head against once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few feet from the group of smokers, a girl had come up out of the club being chased by a skinhead who looked pretty damn mad. The woman looks madder. "I told you, I don't want anything to do with you." She says. Steve watches as the guy grabs her arm and tugs her closer, muttering something to her that Steve can't hear. The woman's face twists and she try to pull away. The group of smokers glance over and look away. "Get off me!" She yells again. 
> 
> Well, Steve knows how this is going to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super huge thanks to my beta [findthefanfic](http://findthefanfic.tumblr.com) who got back to me way more quickly than I expected, and who I am eternally grateful for.
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait! My end of year uni exams are kicking my ass. I finish within a few weeks, and should be posting more frequently after that!

Their midnight  TV -watching sessions continue. Steve waits for Bucky on the couch and eventually starts making snacks and things for both of them like they aren't both just unwinding so they can go to sleep, but are actually making a thing of this. Like, a real thing.

It's not a date. It's not a date, because even though Bucky likes boys he doesn't like Steve, and that would be problematic, as Peggy has previously pointed out. So it's not a date. It's just a friend thing, totally platonic. Just guys, being dudes, watching shows from the 2000s starring guys that Bucky swears up and down to Steve are hot as hell. 

It's an education to Steve in more than just the television he missed out on when he was young and spending the majority of his time with a pencil in his hand and paper in front of his eyes than a  TV  remote and a set (which paid off: now he's a professional artist, thanks). It's an education in Bucky Barnes, and it's the type of education that Steve is seriously invested in.

Bucky always takes his hair down from the knot he ties it up in during the day when he flops down onto the couch; he sits with his feet planted firmly on the ground, or with them propped up on the coffee table (which Peggy has told him off about during the day, but  y'know  - at night she isn't there, and Steve doesn't care that much). He runs a hand through his hair every so often when it creeps onto his face, and when something amuses him his lips pull up at the edges in a smirk, higher at the left than at the right, a look that Steve has committed to paper more times than he would ever dare to admit.

Once they've finished 90210 and Gilmore Girls, they move on to a show Steve wasn't really expecting: Desperate Housewives. He's skeptical at first until Bucky gives him an explanation.

"Jesse Metcalfe in season one, okay - hot then, hot now. And James Denton? I don't know about now, but totally hot then." He looks at Steve and grins. "And it's a damn good show - you'll love it, I promise."

Steve  rolls  his eyes, but he's smiling as he turns towards the television. They don't get very far into it before Bucky says, "I'm still surprised you haven't seen these shows. Your boyfriend never made you watch them? This is like - prime 'getting in the mood' viewing."

He says it so casually, but Steve nearly chokes on the popcorn he'd just put in his mouth. Bucky, talking about boyfriends. Bucky, boyfriends. Not okay.

"I've, um, I never, really--" Steve splutters a little, and then reaches to take a sip of the tea that sits on the table in front of him. Bucky looks over at him, looking mildly concerned, but there's another look sitting in those dark eyes, and Steve doesn't know what it is, not for the life of him.

"I've never had a proper boyfriend, really." Steve finishes, settling back and looking at the television, though he doesn't really see what's on it. "I've, y'know, one time, things, or - casual things, but never--"

Bucky gives a little nod. He's still looking at Steve intensely, strangely, and Steve can't turn to look at him. When he does, finally wrench his neck around to look at Bucky, he asks, "Is that how you know about all these shows?"

"Nah," Bucky says, and now it's his turn to look away, leaving Steve to watch him as he speaks so casually, nonchalantly. "Didn't have my first boyfriend til the first year of college. I watched a lot of this stuff in my early teens,  y'know ? Dead of night, sneaking downstairs to watch the repeats and hoping my mom didn't catch me drooling over the same guys she drooled over during the day." He gives that same lopsided smile and then turns to look at Steve. "So you're not seeing anyone now?"

Steve blinks; before he had been unable to make eye contact with Bucky, but now he can't quite look away, his gaze fixed on the other, blue eyes meeting gray. "No." He says quietly, and then he looks away, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. He rests his head on his hand, trying to seem cool and collected as he looks at the  TV . "You?"

"No." Bucky answers. Steve feels his gaze linger before he finally looks away, and Steve can breathe again. "Not right now."

Steve gives a little nod, looking at the television. He wants to change the subject. "I think Peggy is, y'know. She's never said it outright, but she talks about this Howard  guy  quite a lot. They work together, I think."

Bucky gives a little nod, silent, and so Steve decides he might as well be quiet too. He tries to the watch the show, his mind suddenly a little preoccupied.

~*~

The cat has taken to hanging around the kitchen in the morning. How it's getting in when Bucky isn't even awake yet is an honest to god mystery to him, and though the thing cries as he goes to get his coffee and something to eat, he refuses to feed it out of principle. 

He forgets what day it is, sometimes. When you work from home days kind of run into one another, so when he wakes at midday and goes to the kitchen (ignoring the cat), he's surprised to see Peggy there. He blinks, looking at her like she's some kind of apparition. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's Saturday, Steve." She says. She hands him a cup of coffee, and he mutters his thanks as he takes a sip. "Up late again?"

"Mm-hm. Insomnia. It's a bitch." He answers, leaning against the counter. The cat comes up to him, tries to headbutt his arm, but he pushes her away. "Stupid cat."

Peggy eyes it but doesn't comment. She must already know about their fifth roommate because she doesn't seem surprised by its presence. "You were up late again with Bucky, I take it?"

Steve takes a sip of his coffee to buy himself a little bit of time before he answers that question. He's such a shitty liar, so she better not make this into some kind of inquisition. "Well, he came in from work and decided to join me, so I guess, yeah."

Peggy purses her lips a little and looks at Steve. "Steve, Natasha and I both think it's a bad idea. The two of you are wonderful, but living together, in such close quarters--"

"I know, I know, it's a bad idea, it would be awkward for everyone--" He says, repeating what she's already told him. The cat rubs up against him again, and he frowns, lightly pushing at it, trying to get it to leave. "Cat, I swear--"

"You better not be picking on Mrs. Whiskers, Rogers," Bucky says as he walks into the kitchen, thankfully wearing a pair of jogging pants, though his bare, chiseled chest is still on display. Doesn't matter. Steve isn't looking. He's looking very intently at his coffee. "She just wants your love."

"She wants me to feed her," Steve says, his eyes flicking up to Bucky's face, definitely not looking at those abs as the other picks the cat up and holds her against his chest, scratching her ear. 

"And to her, food is love," Bucky says, and looks at the cat, talking to her in a low voice that Steve almost can't stand and almost definitely wants to hear again. "Don't let him bully you, you're my guest - let's get you fed."

As he goes about his business, Steve can't help but watch the shifting muscles in his back, his arms as he reaches up to open the cupboard and grab a can of--

"Cat food? I thought we were just feeding her scraps?" Steve says, narrowing his eyes at Bucky, who doesn't look around. 

"I want her to have a healthy diet, Stevie. She needs proper food." He explains.

"Surely if we're feeding her proper food, she's a pet?" Peggy asks, raising her eyebrows at Bucky, who this time  does look around, and pauses. 

"Maybe I like cat food," he says, after a momentary hesitation. "Maybe that's my thing."

Peggy rolls her eyes. "Just don't let it walk around in here. If she gets cat hair on anything the jig's up." She says. She gives Steve a warning look as she leaves, moving down the hall to her room.

She's swiftly replaced by Natasha, who walks into the kitchen and scratches the cat's back as she grabs herself a glass of water. She says hello to each of them before she turns to Steve, and smiles, "A few of us are going to the bar Bucky works at tonight - there's going to be a band, and drinks are half price. Fancy tagging along? Peggy's coming too."

"Uh - sure." Steve nods, and her gives her a small smile. "Sounds like fun."

"We're leaving here at 9," Natasha says, and she smiles, catlike. "Don't worry, you don't have to dress too fancy. Invite Sam along if you like. It'll be fun."

~*~

Steve dresses slowly, a soft frown on his features. He doesn't go out to bars - he hasn't been out to a bar since he was in college, and even then he didn't make a habit of it. He doesn't know what to wear. Natasha said nothing fancy, and so he goes for nothing fancy - not that he has a choice. He doesn't actually own anything fancy.

Bucky is already gone, starting work earlier in the evening to get the place set up and well stocked. The band is, apparently, some kind of Scandinavian rock thing, and Steve doesn't even know if he likes that kind of music, but he's willing to give it a try. He's only just pulling on his jacket when there's a knock at his door, and Sam pushes his way inside. He looks at Steve and gives an approving nod. "You ready?"

"Sure." Steve nods, sticking his wallet in his pocket and following Sam out of the room.

In the months he's known Bucky, he hasn't actually visited his workplace (see: Steve hasn't been to a bar since college). He doesn't know what he's expecting of a club that is hosting a Scandinavian rock band, but he isn't surprised when he enters - low lighting, a few tables scattered around the edges of the room, but mostly just room to dance. There's a stage at one side, empty for now save for instruments and a few microphones, and against the wall is the bar. There's a girl at one end of it already pouring drinks; the band comes on at 9.30, and the place is already packed. Natasha manages to secure them (them being herself, Steve, Sam, Peggy, a guy called Clint, another guy called Tony and Tony's girlfriend, Pepper) a booth, and they all squish in. Steve settles on the end, facing the bar; there's that girl at one end, and a guy who looks way too young to be serving drinks at the other, and in the middle, wearing a tatty white t-shirt, dark hair tied up out of his face, is Bucky. He's taking a credit card from someone, but when he looks up and catches Steve's gaze, he grins. Steve blushes, but he smiles back, turning his head away as Natasha speaks.

"I'll go get drinks - what are we all having?" She asks, and Steve blanches. He doesn't drink, and he hates explaining to people that he doesn't drink because they always make a big thing of it--

"Just a soda for me," Sam says, sitting by Steve's side. When Natasha arches an eyebrow, Sam just grins. "My body is a temple, Romanoff. I'm trying to look after it."

She rolls her eyes and looks to Steve. "Same for me." He says, glad the heat's off. He nudges Sam, directs a grateful smile at him. Sam gives him a little nod and turns to look at the stage, still empty for now. "Halvgud?" He asks, looking at the name emblazoned across the front of the drum set. "What's it mean?"

"Demigod," Tony explains. Apparently, he and Clint have been a follower of the band since they were only getting 50 views on their youtube videos, which were filmed on a shitty camcorder in the lead singer, Thor's mom's garage in Gothenburg. "Thor's surname is Odinson, and his half-brother, Loki's surname is Laufeyson. Well, not originally, but y'know. Both were figures in Norse mythology, so they call themselves demigod - Halvgud."

Seems about right for a Scandinavian rock band, Steve thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut as Natasha returns with a tray full of drinks. They're passed around, and Steve is only just taking a sip of his soda when the band comes out on stage to a raucous round of cheering and applause. Thor might just be the biggest guy Steve has ever seen; he doesn't know what people feed their kids in Sweden, but it must be something good because he's easily six and half a feet of pure muscle. His half-brother, Loki, stands by his side on base, almost as tall but not half as toned; maybe Thor got all of the 'muscled blonde hunk' genes or something.

They're good, Steve has to admit that. They're good, despite being loud and their songs not being very deep, but the amount of people in the room generates a lot of heat, and though Steve tries his best, halfway through the set he tells Sam he's going for a breather. He needs some clean, cool air.

"You want me to come with?" Sam says into his ear; there's no point trying to shout over the din, and Steve can't read lips, so this is better. He shakes his head. "I'll be fine," he assures Sam, patting his shoulder as he leaves.

The bar is downstairs, a basement kind of thing, and so he has to climb his way up to get out. He's grateful when he hits the cool air, taking a deep breath and letting it go slowly. Despite not being sure about the night, he is, actually, having a good time. He wasn't expecting to; he didn't like bars when he was younger. They were too loud and there were too many people and he didn't know how to dance - he would go if there was a big enough group going that it might end up being a laugh, but otherwise he preferred  socializing  during the day, seeing people for lunch or for a cup of coffee or something. But, actually, he was enjoying himself. Natasha's friends were fun, and they had welcomed Steve, Sam, and Peggy as if they had known them for years, and the bar, despite being crowded and hot, was kind of a nice place to hang out.

He hadn't seen Bucky very much though, which he thought about as he leaned against the wall, trying to keep his distance from a gang of smokers that were hanging around near the steps. He had caught two glimpses of Bucky over the course of the night - and he had no idea what time it was, so he couldn't say how long it had been, but he  had kind of expected to see more of him. The bar was constantly packed, people moving from the dance floor to grab a drink and then return. The two times he did see Bucky he was a little bit shiny with sweat, probably just from the heat and how busy he was. He looked good, though. He looked focused like he wanted to do his best but he knew exactly what he was doing, confident in his own abilities. Steve liked that. It was a good look for him.

"Get off me! I broke up with you three weeks ago, asshole--"

The woman's voice breaks through the reverie Steve had been in, and he looks over. A few feet from the group of smokers, a girl had come up out of the club being chased by a skinhead who looked pretty damn mad. The woman looks  madder . "I told you, I don't want anything to do with you." She says. Steve watches as the guy grabs her arm and tugs her closer, muttering something to her that Steve can't hear. The woman's face twists and she try to pull away. The group of smokers glance over and look away. "Get off me!" She yells again.

Well, Steve knows how this is going to go.

"She said get off her." He says, walking over to the couple, hands by his side, curled into a fist. "You always pick on women half your size?"

"This ain't  anythin'  to do with you, so why don't you fuck off?" The guy says, his hand still wrapped around the girl's wrist. She tugs again, but he seems to hold tighter, her skin turning red as his knuckles turn white.

"Let her go and there won't be any trouble, huh?" Steve says.

The guy laughs. "And what are you gonna do, huh?" He lets go of the girl's wrist and she skitters away. Steve doesn't have time to see where she's going before the guy's fist met his face, knocking him to the ground. When he tries to get up he gets punched again, and god -- he's going to have a black eye by morning, he knows that for sure. "Little runt like you can't do shit, so don't act like you can. Should learn to stay out of other people's business, you little--"

Steve blinks, wondering if it's the concussion he likely has that's making him see the guy's head turn violently to the left as a fist connects with his jaw. Steve rubs at the blood that's trickling down his upper lip as he watches Bucky punch the guy, sending him staggering backward. "You're barred, pal, so you better move your ass. And if I see you hanging around or going after that girl I'm calling the cops, you got it?"

The guy looks at Bucky incredulously and then spits at the pavement in front of him before he flees, moving down the street. Steve watches him go until he turns a corner, moving out of sight.

Bucky turns to look at him and stretches out a hand to him. "Come on. Need to clean you up, or the bouncers'll turn you away."

Steve gives a little nod. He expects Bucky to let go of his hand, but he holds onto it as he leads him to the back, pulling him through a small stock room to a kitchen-type area. He pulls a seat up for Steve, finally letting go of his hand as he moves to the freezer, pulling out a bag of ice. After wrapping it in a towel he returns to Steve and presses the bag gently to his swollen eye. He crouches down in front of him, placing Steve's hand over the bag, a cue for him to hold onto it. He does as he's told, and watches Bucky through one good eye as he feels along Steve's nose. "Good news," He says, and he smiles. "Not broken."

Steve grunts softly, his eyes on Bucky as the other remains in front of him, at eye-level for once. 

"Why'd you try to fight him?" Bucky asks, his brow creasing a little. Steve thinks it might be in concern. It's cute.

"Someone had to." Steve shrugs. "He was gonna hurt that girl if no one did anything."

"You could've called for security," Bucky says. "They weren't too far away."

"Far enough." Steve murmurs, frowning. He hisses softly as he moves the bag over his eye, and Bucky moves his hand away to look at it and gives a frown. He places Steve's hand, and by connection, the ice, back to the wound.

"You always so gallant?" He asks. 

Steve gives a soft sigh. "I'm not gallant." He says. "Just a decent human being."

Bucky gives a little nod. He looks at Steve likes he's conflicted, and he worries that Bucky's going to start telling him off. Instead, he brings his face closer to Steve's and kisses him, softly, sweetly, and briefly, before pulling back.

"You're a good  guy , Rogers. I gotta get back to the bar. Just leave when you're ready, okay?"

He gives a small smile, and then he's going, Steve watching his retreating figure. 

He just kissed Bucky. Correction: Bucky just kissed him. Bucky, smelling slightly of sweat and aftershave and alcohol just kissed him and told him he was a good guy. Bucky, who just rescued him from an asshole who would have knocked his teeth out, who led him by the hand back to a safe place, who iced his eye and made sure his nose wasn't broken, just kissed him and told him he's a good guy. And then he left.

Steve doesn't know what any of it means. He kind of wants to go home. He really wants to go and ask Bucky what the fuck that was about. He really  wants to kiss him again. 

Instead, he sits, and he stares, dumbfounded, at the freezer. He doesn't know what any of it means, but he thinks he might be in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any prompts, questions or comments can be posted below, or sent to [my tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wow," Sam says, and he smiles. "Wow - congrats, man. So are you two a thing?" 
> 
> "I haven't had a chance to speak to him yet," Steve explains. "But... well, I hope so." He says, and he grins again. 
> 
> "Cabs here, ladies," Natasha says, pushing open the door to let in a gust of cool air, tempting them to the outside. "Let's get going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thanks to my amazing beta reader over at [findthefanfic](http://findthefanfic.tumblr.com). I am, as ever, so grateful!

Steve sits there for what feels like a very, very long time. He sits there, staring at the blank wall in front of him, his mind suddenly going blank. It's funny, he thinks. He has so many thoughts, and so many questions, so many words running through his mind that they had begun to run into one another, and then--

Nothing. His mind goes blank. He does it wrong; you're supposed to into shock first, not second, but there he is, sitting in the kitchen behind the bar with a dreamy smile on his lips, and his mind blank. After fifteen minutes that feels like ages, he stands up, leaves the ice behind, and heads to the bar. Bucky isn't there, but no one questions him as he moves to the little door by the far end of the door, and slips into the crowd.

Sam gives him a good earful, though.

"What have I told you, Steve?" He says, pacing a little as they stand in the entrance hall to the bar, a small corridor that mutes some of the music coming from the main room, and smells vaguely of smoke. Steve's shoes stick to the floor, which is why he doesn't pace himself, but he does shift his feet a little every so often, to make sure he doesn't sink into the liquor-sticky carpet.

"You can't go getting into fights. Not on your own, anyway,  jesus \-- remember last time? Huh? When you sat behind that dumpster for three hours until I could find you and then you had to go to the emergency room?" He asks, turning to look at Steve with an accusing glare. "Do you?"

"That was two times ago, and I wasn't alone. Bucky was there." Steve says and smiles again in that little, dreamy kind of way, and Sam stops pacing. His eyes narrow.

"Bucky was there?" He asks slowly. Steve nods, and his smile becomes a little more conspiratorial. He's not going to tell anyone until he's had a chance to chat to Bucky, but Sam isn't included in 'anyone'. Sam is his best friend, so he gets to know things.

"He kissed me," Steve says, and he grins. "after he rescued me."

Sam pauses, and his face softens. He knows how much Steve likes Bucky; Steve's never admitted it, but he knows that Sam knows. He can tell in the way Steve lights up when he talks to him, but turns a little bit pink when they're in the same room. Sam knows, and when Steve looks at him he knows that Sam is happy for him.

"Wow," Sam says, and he smiles. "Wow - congrats, man. So are you two a thing?"

"I haven't had a chance to speak to him yet," Steve explains. "But... well, I hope so." He says, and he grins again.

"Cabs here, ladies," Natasha says, pushing open the door to let in a gust of cool air, tempting them to the outside. "Let's get going." 

Steve gestures to the door with a nod of his head, and after a second Sam nods, and he follows Natasha out. Steve gives himself one little grin before he leaves, trying to look a little more sober. People with a black eye and a not-broke-but-very-sore nose don't look giddy, do they?

Sam leaves, Natasha just slipping into the taxi as Steve follows along behind. He knows Bucky has to stay to clean up, but hopefully, he can see him in the morning. He wants to talk to him - he wants to know where this is all headed.

~*~

He doesn't see Bucky in the morning; he gets called into work on an "emergency" - Steve doesn't know what kind of emergency it could be, and why he has to go into the office, but he heads in anyway. Turns out one of their other artists has quit and left all of her deadlines hanging in the air, and thus he and Steve spend two hours going over what Steve can and can't finish for her.

On the way back, he can't stop thinking about Bucky. He wonders if Bucky'll kiss him again when he sees him. He wonders if he'll ask him how he's feeling, and sweep one of those rough but startlingly gentle hands over his cheekbone, just under his bruised eye. 

(His boss didn't comment on the eye. He's known Steve for a while know. Black eyes no longer worry him as they once did.)

He knows Bucky will be up when he gets home. He should be dressed, too, which will make things easier as Steve really does struggle to speak to Bucky when he's only in his underwear, with his hair all messy. Maybe he'll get to see Bucky in his underwear a lot more often, from now on.

When he does finally reach the front door of the apartment, though, he opens it to see Peggy sitting on the couch, a laptop resting on a cushion on her lap, her dark hair tied up in a messy-ish bun. Natasha's sitting in the armchair, her legs draped over one side, and her knitting in her lap.

(He had been surprised to learn that Natasha knit, but she had just shrugged. "Everyone has a hobby, Rogers. And give me your chest size, I want to work on a sweater for you.")

But, Steve notes, there's no Bucky.

"Hey." He says, because his mother raised him right, and he isn't impolite enough to just ask where Bucky is before at least greeting his other roommates. 

They return his greeting, and as Steve shrugs off his jacket, he works up the courage to ask, "Where's Bucky?" 

Peggy looks from Steve to Natasha, who smirks like she knows something _very_  funny. "He's on a date with one of Clint's friends. Pietro, I think." She adds, and then she looks at the television, still smiling like the entire thing entertains her. 

It doesn't entertain Steve. Steve, who had spent the last, like, fourteen hours thinking about Bucky Barnes and the fact that he had kissed him. No, it's not funny at all, and for a second he sways on his feet. Peggy looks over at him and frowns softly.

"Are you alright, Steve?" She asks, genuine concern written into her features, and Steve has decided he loves Peggy, but he doesn't want to talk to her just now.

And so, he nods. "Fine. Feeling kinda weird. Guess it was the late night." He says. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some sleep."

Peggy watches him go without argument, but she looks like she wants to stop him. Steve is glad when she doesn't.

~*~

He lies awake for a long time, just staring at the ceiling, but eventually he falls asleep. There's only so much worrying his brain can do before it shuts off completely. 

Before he finally fell asleep, though, his thought process had been fairly simple, and fairly repetitive: the date must have been pre-arranged - no one gets up and gets told that they're going on a date and just goes along with it. So Bucky must have known, for at least a little while, that he'd be going out with someone. And if he knew that he was going out with someone, why didn't he tell Steve? Why did he _kiss_  Steve?

It didn't make any sense, and so Steve  fell  asleep because he could worry quite easily when he woke up.

When he does wake up again, he stretches and yawns. The light outside his window has faded, replaced by a blackness illuminated only by the faint orange light of the streetlamps outside. He looks at the clock on his bedside table - 2 am. He knows he won't be able to go back to sleep, and being awake brings back his worries, so - he heads to the couch. On the couch, he can at least put on some trashy television show, or a movie or something. Try to forget for a little while.

But sitting on the couch with the  TV  on only makes him think of Bucky, which he doesn't want to do - he tries instead to find something completely different, tries to find a show that he knows he and Bucky would never watch together. He flicks through for a little while before he settles on Downton Abbey, and relaxes into the couch.

He doesn't sketch as he watches, not this time. He doesn't sketch when he's angry or upset because he turns into a perfectionist. Well, he's a perfectionist anyway, but he's even worse when he's not in his right mind. He props his head up on his hand, curled up against one end of the sofa. When the front door opens and closes, and footsteps pause by the door, he doesn't look. 

He doesn't look when Bucky takes off his jacket and moves to the couch, sitting down at his end. He doesn't look, not even when Bucky asks, "Hey - what're we watching?"

"Downton Abbey." Steve murmurs. The position he's in is starting to make his eye throb, but he doesn't move.

"Huh. Never watched it. Is it any good?" Bucky asks, and he's looking at Steve but Steve still doesn't look back. He won't. He refuses. 

"It's good." He murmurs. After a second of looking at the screen in silence, he asks, "How was your date?"

There's silence, and finally, Steve looks over. Bucky's not looking at him or at the television, but rather at his shoes, his brows drawn close together, his gaze clouded. 

"It was--" He begins, and then he stops. When he doesn't say anything, Steve asks, "Are you seeing each other again?"

Bucky looks up then, and he looks at Steve for a long moment. He looks at his swollen eye and lips, Steve _knows_  he is, because he's looked at Bucky's plenty enough, and then he looks into Steve's eyes.

Steve hopes he's going to say no. He hopes he says no, and he moves across the sofa and he kisses him like he means it, and he makes some excuse for the date that Steve doesn't hear because he's too busy kissing him back.

But instead, Bucky looks at him for a long time and nods. "Yeah, I am."

Steve turns his gaze back to the screen. Bucky stuck up for him in a fight and kissed him and hasn't mentioned it. Bucky went on a date after he kissed him, after he kissed _Steve_ , and he's going to see him again. This other guy. He's going to go on another date, which means it's going well. Which means he kissed Steve, but he doesn't mean anything by it, does he?

With Bucky's gaze on him  still , Steve stands. "Good night, Bucky." He says. On the screen, two people in period costume kiss, dramatic music swelling in the background. Steve goes to his room. He doesn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where it all goes pear-shaped!
> 
> Any questions, comments, prompts or thoughts can be left below or over at [my tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve pauses, and after a second, he pulls away. Bucky's hand on his cheek feels too good, his skin against Steve's too sweet, and Steve will forgive him for it all if they stand too close for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this was going to be a light-hearted Friends AU? Me neither. But I'm too lazy to change the format now, so let's barrel on through!

You know what the worst thing is? Pietro is a pretty nice guy.

 

About six weeks after their first date, he comes to the door to pick Bucky up, and Steve has the pleasure of letting him in. Bucky must have buzzed him in because Steve has literally just stepped out of his bedroom door to get more coffee (he's working on a particularly tricky piece for a particularly tricky customer) and he hadn't heard the buzzer go.

 

He opens the door to be met with a tall, toned guy, platinum blonde hair perfectly styled. Steve wants to hate him, but he gives a bashful smile and ducks his head, his hands in his pockets. When he speaks it's with a soft accent, sounding vaguely Slavic. "I'm here to pick up Bucky. He knows I'm waiting on him."

 

Steve considers telling him to wait outside and shutting the door on him, but his mother raised him better than that. And because he knows his mother would haunt his dreams if he dared wrong a guest, he steps to one side and closes the door softly behind Pietro. He stands in the hallway, hands still in his pockets. "I doubt Bucky will be long," Steve says, trying to force his voice into something more friendly, or at least level. "You can wait in there if you like." He says, pointing to the living room. "Would you like a drink?"

 

"No, thank you," Pietro says, and he smiles, and for the love of god - Steve really does want to hate him, but he's sweet, and he moves into the living room and sits down like he's cautious, and - nervous?

 

Steve goes to return to his room, but he meets Peggy along the way. Peggy, who apparently was eavesdropping. 

 

"Is that him?" She asks, craning her neck so she can see. Steve gives a little nod, silent. "He seems nice."

 

"He is." Steve agrees, his voice a little tight.

 

Peggy looks at him for a long time, and then she sighs softly. "I'm sorry, Steve."

 

Steve shrugs. He hears Bucky's door open and then shut, and he turns to go to his own room before he can see him, holing himself up and getting back to work.

 

~*~

 

Steve has to go to work more often now, covering for various co-workers as they go off on the sick or off on holiday or off on maternity leave, having meetings with his boss. He comes home around lunchtime, and when he opens the door, he's met with Pietro and Bucky on the couch, making out to the theme tune of How I Met Your Mother.

 

A garbage show for garbage people, Steve thinks, as he shuts the door with a little more force than is necessary.

 

The sound - which was likely heard on the floors above and below them - shocks the couple out of their reverie. Bucky sits up, and Pietro has the good grace to blush as he looks away, hiding his face in the back of the sofa.

 

Remind Steve never to sit there, ever again.

 

"Hey, Stevie," Bucky says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

 

The nickname, still used exclusively by Bucky, still makes the butterflies in his stomach kick up a fuss. Steve takes his coat off and hangs it up, trying not to look at either of them too much. "Hey."

 

"We were gonna go to the cafe if you wanted to come." Bucky continues. They still go to the cafe they all met in sometimes, maybe just for memories, mostly when they run out of coffee. And actually, Steve does kind of want to go. He's had a hard morning, and he's tired, and a cup of coffee with a lot of cream and sugar and some kind of flavor might be quite a nice pick-me-up. 

 

But then he looks at Bucky's hand settled on Pietro's thigh, and he decides that bed is a much better idea.

 

"No, thanks." He answers. "I've got a lot of work to do, so."

 

He doesn't linger long after that, but he thinks Bucky looks disappointed as he leaves, retreating to his room in a way that's starting to become habitual.

 

~*~

 

They go to the bar one night when Bucky is working, and Steve is almost _looking_  for a fight.

 

He has a lot of pent up energy. Before, he put his energy into his work and into staying up and narrating television shows with Bucky into the wee hours of the morning, rating guys out of ten and explaining why the hell he gave a 7 to Spike from Buffy, c'mon Steve, that hair is fuckin' terrible.

 

But now all he does is sleep and draw and go to work, and he's tired and pumped up all at the same time.

 

So he drinks a little bit, even though he knows he shouldn't. He doesn't really have a taste for it. But when Natasha asked for drink choices Sam asked for a rum and coke, and Steve asks for one for himself, too. Sam raises an eyebrow at him, but Steve just shrugs. He wants to drink, he's well over the legal age, and he's in a bar. It would be weirder if he didn't drink, right?

 

"Well, would you look at that. Mr. Stick Up The Ass is going to let his hair down." Tony grins, and Steve rolls his eyes.

 

The thing about not being friends with Bucky anymore is that it's forced him to be friends with other people: one of these people is Tony. Tony, who's a bit of an asshole and way too full of himself, charming and arrogant and kind of a dick, but a good guy too. He and Steve get along in the 'old married couple' kind of sense. They bicker, but they always mean well.

 

"Who loses the bet, then?" Steve asks, his eyes flicking to the bar where Bucky is working. He chats to Natasha as she waits for their tray full of drinks, the two of them laughing at something she says.

 

Steve looks away, to Tony and Clint. Tony looks scandalized. "Rogers, as if I would ever bet on your sobriety." He shakes his head. "Your life, your choice."

 

"You do owe me five bucks, though," Clint says, and Tony narrows his eyes at him.

 

Steve isn't mad. In fact, Steve couldn't care less, because Natasha returns to the table and slides his drink over to him and actually, it's pretty good.

 

He drinks it slowly because he knows how his body and alcohol mix, and chugging it isn't going to get him anywhere good. But still, by the time the glass his half empty he's feeling kind of buzzed, and he likes it. He joins in with the conversation at the table intermittently, butting in only when he has something relevant to say.

 

His eyes wander. He watches Bucky at the bar, working. He ties his hair up when he's working, but not at the base of his neck like he normally does. He ties it up high, in a neater knot than usual, keeping it away from his neck. Steve likes it, actually. Although he likes Bucky's hair any way, whether it's tied up or down or left loose around his shoulders.

 

Bucky smiles at something a girl at the bar says, sliding her drink over and taking her card. She leaves, moving to one side of the room, and Steve suddenly realizes that Bucky is looking at him, gaze settled on Steve. And for a second, it's intense. They're looking at each other and Steve remembers how Bucky kissed him, how Bucky defended him, led him inside and cradled his cheek, made sure he was okay.

 

Someone sits down in the seat the lady had just vacated - someone with platinum blonde hair, long legs leaning stretched so his feet can touch the floor even as he sits. Steve can still see Bucky, but now he looks away. He doesn't want to see anymore.

 

Steve drains his glass. "I'm gonna get going."

 

"What-- it's eleven." Clint frowns, looking at the watch on his wrist.

 

Steve shrugs as he scoots out of the bar, feeling a little weird. Is he swaying? Is this what being tipsy is? He had one drink, jesus.

 

"I'll go with you," Sam says, reaching for his jacket, but Steve shakes his head. Sam had been getting cozier and cozier with Natasha as the night went on, the two of them leaning towards each other, whispering to each other, and Steve doesn't want to ruin that. Misery likes company, but Sam is his friend and he deserves good things. Natasha is a good thing.

 

"No, no - I'll get a cab, there's a taxi rank like a block over," Steve says, and he smiles, hoping he looks convincing. He must, because Sam's giving him a look like he's concerned, but about to give in. "I'll text you when I get in the cab, when I get out, and when I get into the apartment. Okay, mom?"

 

Sam looks at him for a second longer and then nods. "Okay. Okay - be safe." he murmurs.

 

Steve nods back and smiles, and leaves, in that order. He can feel Bucky's eyes on him as he goes, but from his periphery, he can see Pietro still chatting away, so he knows Bucky isn't free.

 

It's fine, anyway. Steve doesn't want to talk to him. He wants to go to bed, or sit on the fire escape until his skin turns purple with cold, or maybe both.

 

Neither are what end up happening, though.

 

~*~

 

He gets into a fight. And actually he does pretty well for himself, manages to get to the cab and get all the way home without so much as a glance at another person, but then he gets out of the cab, and... well.

 

There's a guy sitting outside the building, sitting up against the red brick with a bottle in a brown paper bag. He eyes Steve, and after one horrifying second wherein Steve can't find his keys, he realizes that he knows this guy. They went to school together, many moons ago. What was his name? Stoger? No. Schmidt? Yeah, - Schmidt. He laughs when he sees Steve, and he looks up at him.

 

"Well, if ain't Little Captain Rogers, King o' the Queers." He sneers, and Steve balks a little. He hasn't had anything to do with this kind of bullying since he left high school. College was a much kinder place, more like-minded people in one place. He knows slurs go on, hate crimes happen but they haven't happened to him in years.

 

And yet, it evokes the same response it always did, way back when - it gets his hackles up and his fists clench, and he stands his ground. "I knew I was right to vote for you for Least Likely to Succeed. Arnim Zola owes me ten bucks."

 

Schmidt's lip curls, and he stands. The bottle in the bag is left behind, and he moves towards Steve. He was always bigger than Steve, always weightier than him, but even more so now. It doesn't put Steve off, though.

 

No, what puts Steve off is the fist that meets his face, and the cuss words shouted in his ear.

 

In his defense, he does give it his all. He aims for Schmidt's face, for his jaw, and he manages to get a fair few punches in, maybe owing to the fact that Schmidt has finished off the entire bottle of whatever the hell it was, now settled in the dirt by the steps up to the building.

 

The fight is broken up when Steve falls on his ass, and some kind stranger is brave enough to push Schmidt into the road, telling him to get on his way. Steve's vision is blurred (he thinks he lost a contact lens) and his nose is bleeding again, and he thinks he maybe cut his hand on some glass when he fell. Schmidt shouts a few more obscenities, and then he leaves.

 

Steve looks up and is met with a man with a soft frown and a youthful face, and over his shoulder, Peggy, looking worried.

 

"Wish we could have met under better circumstances, pal," he says, helping Steve to his feet. Steve's confused for a second, but then he notices that the lipstick on his collar matches the lipstick she's wearing, and things click.

 

"Howard?" He guesses. Howard nods.

 

"Nice to meet you. Now c'mon - inside. You guys got a first aid kit?" he asks, brushing off Steve's clothes and heading up the stairs into the building.

 

~*~

 

Howard is a good guy, it turns out. Peggy makes tea whilst he makes sure Steve doesn't need a trip to the hospital, and then he sits in the chair next to Steve, hands folded on the table.

 

"How did you end up in the ring tonight, then?" He asks, and Steve snorts softly. He shouldn't. It makes his nose hurt.

 

"Guy I used to go to high school with. He was drunk, said a few things that he shouldn't, so I punched him. He punched me back, repeatedly."

 

"He fights a lot." Peggy murmurs, setting the tea down on the table. She sits down on the opposite side of the table to Howard, her lips pursed.

 

Steve snorts. Again. He winces. Again. "No I don't."

 

"More than the average human being." Peggy retorts. Steve would argue, but he doesn't want to. His head is pounding, in the migraine way rather than the 'just been punched' way.

 

"Peggy told me about your boy." Howard says after a second. Steve winces, but this time it's not a physical pain that makes him do so. "It got anything to do with that?"

 

"He wasn't my boy, so no. We kissed once. We didn't even talk to each other that much." Steve mutters. He sips his tea, looking at his split knuckles. Peggy sighs softly.

 

"But he almost was." She murmurs. "Sometimes almost is worse."

 

Steve doesn't answer that. He busies himself with his tea until the cup is empty and the silence has stretched on for far too long. He looks at Howard. "Reckon I'm concussed?"

 

"No." Howard answers.

 

Steve stands. "So I can sleep?"

 

Howard nods. "Don't look your door, though, okay? Just in case someone wants to check on you."

 

Steve gives a little nod. He thanks Peggy for the tea in a soft voice, and moves towards his bedroom, shutting the door softly. He considers locking it, but he's decided that he likes Howard, so he moves to his bed without drawing the bolt. He changes into a too big t-shirt and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

 

~*~

 

When he wakes he blinks open one eye, and looks at the clock on his bedside table. 4am. He groans, and stretches, his head feeling stuffy and his throat dry. He gets out of bed slowly, now feeling every ache and pain. A look in the mirror on his way to his door tells him that yeah, he looks as bad as he feels. His lip is split, nose bright red and now bruising a little, his cheekbone cut and his eyebrow busted in one place. He can't tell where the bruising is (his room is too dark), but he doubts he looks particularly pretty.

 

Still, doesn't matter. The apartment is deathly silent as he moves through it, flicking the kitchen light on as he gets himself a glass of water. Outside the sky is dark, but the city lights up the skyline in a way that Steve kind of wants to draw. He doesn't, though. He sips the glass of water, throat feeling like sandpaper.

 

He hears the front door open and close, and then he hears footsteps. He stays rooted to the spot, and if anyone had asked, he would say that it was because his still sleepy brain couldn't decipher who it could be, coming in at 4 am. The truth was that he stood stock still because he wanted to see Bucky. He hasn't seen him in so long, and he desperately wants to.

 

Bucky sees him, and begins with a, "Hey, Stevie--" but he's cut off midway when he sees Steve's face, battered and bruised, still a little swollen in places. "Oh, Steve." He murmurs.

 

Steve doesn't say anything. He stays silent, the glass of water in one hand, his eyes on Bucky's face.

 

Bucky moves forward slowly until he's just an inch from Steve. He hooks a finger under his chin, tilting it upward into the light so he can see. He takes only a second before he lets go, broad hand settling on Steve's cheek instead, his eyes pointed down to look at him.

 

"Who was it?" He asks softly. "Who did this?"

 

Steve pauses, and after a second, he pulls away. Bucky's hand on his cheek feels too good, his skin against Steve's too sweet, and Steve will forgive him for it all if they stand too close for too long.

 

"Why did you kiss me if you were going on a date?" He asks softly.

 

Bucky's hand falls to his side, and he bites his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, Steve."

 

"Why did you go on the date at all?" Steve continues. This has been a long time coming. "Why did you carry on dating him? Why?"

 

"Because - Because it's not a good idea, Steve." Bucky murmurs. "Natasha and Peggy, they told me it would end in tears, and look - it already did. Imagine how much worse things would be if we had actually gotten together. If we had dated and fallen in love and then it had all gone to hell. Nat and Peggy, they just want to live in peace. Isn't that fair to them?"

 

"You always do what Peggy and Natasha tell you to do?" Steve mutters, his face turned away.

 

Bucky sighs. "Only when I think they're right."

 

Steve looks at his feet, now, his eyes on the ground. "I really liked you, Bucky." He murmurs. "Still do." He adds, because he has nothing to lose, does he?

 

"I - I do too, Steve. I like you." Bucky says. "A lot, but--"

 

"What about Pietro? Do you like him?" Steve insists, moving into Bucky's space. "Because stringing him along, Bucky, that's fucking awful - stringing _two_  people along--"

 

"I - I like him. I _do_." Bucky murmurs. "I do."

 

"More than me?" Steve asks.

 

Bucky looks at him for a long moment. He's silent, and then he leans in to kiss Bucky's forehead. "I'm sorry, Stevie." He murmurs. He looks at him like he wants to say something else, do something more, but he steps away. "I really am. I never wanted to hurt you."

 

"Y'know the worst thing, Bucky?" Steve mutters, throwing the rest of the glass of water down the drain, the glass settling in the sink. "I'm pretty sure that if you asked, I'd give you another chance."

 

Bucky watches him, his brow furrowing. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it after a moment, and then he sighs. "You're a good person, Steve."

 

"I know," Steve mutters. He goes to bed, his forehead still feeling warm with the press of Bucky's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will pick up from here, I promise. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor smiles at his brother, patting him on the back. “You go, brother. I think I need to speak with Steven a while longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting on this one is a little weird. My laptop crapped out on me, so I've done this entire thing from my tablet - hopefully I'll be back to normal soon!
> 
> As always, big thanks to my beta over at findthefanic, who gave me some great advice on this one!

Sam tells Steve that he should get out of the flat, and in a shocking turn of events, Steve agrees. He gathers up his laptop and his tablet, and he leaves the apartment, heading across the road to the coffee shop. 

He likes working in there so much that he decides to go back, every day for a week. It's probably not what Sam meant by out, but it's out of the apartment, and if he sits with his back to the window he can imagine a world in which he never met the band of idiots he now calls his friends.   
  
He wanders across the road one morning, just after nine, after the morning rush but before the lunch rush - he can already see that his table is free, so he heads in without a care.   
  
Though, when he gets in line to grab his coffee he notices that he's stood behind an incredibly tall, incredibly muscular guy, rocking a sleeveless shirt and a bun (different enough to Bucky’s not to remind him of him too much, thank god) that he recognizes immediately - the front man from that band that Natasha took them to see. Jeez, what were the called? Halvug? Havglud? Steve shakes his head at himself. He's about to have another mental guess and likely offend the entire population of Norway when Thor turns around, and Steve is met a) with his rock hard body, and b) with a shirt that reads “HALVGUD” in block capitals.   
  
“Ah - Steven!” Thor smiles, looking down at Steve and giving him a bright grin. How does Thor know his name? “Tony Stark’s new friend, yes?”   
  
Steve gives a little nod. Tony must have told him his name, then. “I suppose.” Steve gives a tight smile. He didn't really come here to talk.   
  
“Why do you look so glum, Steven?” Thor asks as they move up a little, someone grabbing his drink and escaping from the coffee shop.   
  
“Uh--” he could deny it, but Steve knows he has a face like a slapped ass, and he knows he can't hide it. “A lot of reasons, I guess.”   
  
“Is there no one to listen? I often find that many of my problems are solved by speaking of them with my mother, or my father.” Thor explains. His brother appears over his shoulder, two drinks in hand.   
  
“Uh - no. I don't.” Steve says, reaching for the Americano that is passed to him by the barista. That's not entirely true. He has Sam, but he doesn't really want to bother him. He could maybe turn to Howard, but they don't really know each other that well, not just yet. “But it's fine. I'm good.”   
  
“Thor - we’ll miss the metro,” Loki complains, and Thor takes what Steve thinks is the biggest, most sugary drink the shop has to offer.  
  
Thor smiles at his brother, patting him on the back. “You go, brother. I think I need to speak with Steven a while longer.”   
  
Loki rolls his eyes and leaves, and Steve watches him go as he collects his cappuccino. “Is he going to be okay? He looks kind of upset.”   
  
“He always looks that way.” Thor chuckles, watching the door swung shut as Loki disappears down the street. “He tends to be quite melancholic. It is good for the band's image, but perhaps not so good for my brother.” And then, with a sweeping gesture to the rest of the cafe, Thor asks, “your table?”   
  
Steve gives a soft huff and leads Thor to his table in the corner. He sips his coffee as a distraction as Thor takes the seat opposite, and says, “So, Steven - tell me what troubles you.”   
  
“It's really nothing,” Steve says. “I like a guy, I thought he liked me. He's dating someone else now.”   
  
“Why do you think he likes you? Or liked you, rather?” Thor asks.   
  
Steve deflates. “He kissed me. And he told me, in no uncertain terms.”   
  
Thor’s brow creases, like he's thinking about that one for a second. Steve sips his coffee and thinks about the princess vampire he should be drawing for another godforsaken teen/YA ebook.   
  
“Why did he do those things and then begin to date another?” Thor asks, to which Steve scoffs, somewhat bitterly.   
  
“My friends convinced him it would be a bad idea if we dated.” He explains. “We all live together. I suppose they were worried if it didn't work out…”   
  
“That it might become awkward.” Thor finishes for him, taking a sip of his frappe. “Go on.”   
  
“So one of them set him up on a date and he kept on seeing the other guy because… Well, they convinced him, I guess.” Steve says, running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. He's not having a very fun time, recounting all of this, but it seems that Thor might be working up to some kind of brilliant revelatory life advice.   
  
“Does he like this other boy?” Thor asks, his head tilting.   
  
Steve shrugs. “He says he does.”   
  
There's a pause, and then Thor asks the question Steve had been dreading: “If he were to choose you over the other, would you go to him?”   
  
It's a question Steve dreaded because the answer is as simple as it is frustrating: yes. He would. If Bucky came in and kissed him and asked him to run away with him, fuck Pietro and fuck their friends, Steve would pack his bags and be gone in a flash. Because he likes Bucky - after everything he still likes Bucky and he doesn't really know what to do about it. "I'm not sure. I'd like to think that I would be able to say no after everything that's happened, but I don't think I really could do it if he came to me and told me he chose me instead."   
  
Thor nods slowly, and then sets the half empty frappe down onto the table, leaving a ring of moisture where it settles. “It seems to me, Steven, that your friends’ concerns come from a good place, but their execution has been… Lacking.”   
  
Steve nods slowly. He can see that.   
  
“And it also seems as though they've gotten into your friend’s head a lot more than they have yours. Did you never think to take heed of them?”   
  
“Not really.” Steve murmurs.   
  
“Would you like my opinion, Steven?” Thor asks, and he doesn't sound like a scolding mother or an old lady sticking her ore in - he sounds like a friend, not wanting to force his advice onto Steve if he doesn't want it. But Steve does want it, so he nods, and Thor leans in a little. “It is my opinion that your friends owe you an apology. That boy does, also, but do not be too harsh on him. He listened to your friends, and he made a bad decision - perhaps a few. Do not be too harsh, but--” he holds up a finger. “Do not be too lenient. We all must learn from our mistakes, as my father says.”   
  
Steve looks at Thor and a few thoughts run through his head. The first is that he’s weirdly wise, like an old wizard in some kind of fantasy novel. He's probably about the same age as Steve, if not younger, but maybe it's the accent and the weirdly fluent but old sounding English and the general air of royalty he holds about himself. Steve wants his advice because he seems to know what he's talking about.   
  
The other is that he's right. Take away the date Natasha sent him on and the doubt they both planted in his mind, and Bucky probably would’ve chosen Steve. Sure he could've not listened, or not gone on the date, and Steve wouldn't let him off with those, but - well. Steve knew what needed to be done.   
  
“Thanks, Thor.” He says, smiling gently as he looks st the other. “That was really helpful.”   
  
Thor grins, grabbing his frappe. “Sometimes a second opinion by someone far removed from the situation is useful.” He says, and he stands. “I hope I see you again, Steven. You must tell me how things progress.”   
  
“I will.” Steve nods, watching as Thor walks away.   
  
  
                                                                                     ~*~   
  
  
Peggy and Howard are the next to take their seats opposite Steve’s table not even a week later. They do so unannounced and without coffee. Peggy looks troubled. Howard looks somewhat determined.   
  
Steve looks between the two of them and arches an eyebrow.   
  
“Howard brought it to my attention, that-- that I've been rather unfair,” Peggy says. She's nervous, and Steve knows that she's nervous, because she always speaks in her Queen’s English when she's nervous, RP accent and everything, like something from a 1950s BBC news show.   
  
“I stuck my nose in where it wasn't supposed to be, and I've rather ruined things for you and James.” She looks to Howard, who gives her a little nod. She continues, “I tried to make sure there wouldn't be any drama and all I've done is make even more.” She looks at Steve, imploring, beseeching. “I'm sorry, Steve.”   
  
Steve blinks - this isn't what he expected. He thought he'd have to wrangle an apology out of the two of them, but here’s Peggy, not a week after Thor’s pretty good advice, asking for his forgiveness.   
  
Steve looks to Howard, who arches an eyebrow in return. Steve looks to Peggy. “You did kinda ruin it, Peg.”

  
“I know..” She laments. “I know, and I’m sorry. I won't, not anymore - I'm not your mother and I'm not the queen of the apartment. I’ll keep my opinions to myself, next time.”   
  
“Or you could just be happy for me?” Steve suggests.   
  
Peggy nods meekly. “That too.”   
  
Howard looks between the two of them, and says, “You gonna kiss and make up?”   
  
Steve quirks his lips into something like a smile. “Kiss your girlfriend? Don't guys get punched over that?”   
  
“I think I'd allow it, just this once,” Howard answers, smirking. Peggy gives a soft laugh, sounding relieved.   
  
“We have to go to work.” She says, looking to Howard and then back to Steve. “But I wanted to apologize. I know Natasha does as well - she's working, but I know she wants to, for the same reason.”   
  
Steve gives a little nod. He’ll catch up with Natasha when he can. “Go on,” he says, nodding to the door. “I don't want to be an excuse for why you're late.”   
  
Peggy nods, Howard standing up and moving to the door once he's clapped Steve on the shoulder. Peggy kisses his cheek gently, giving him one last apologetic smile before she hurries after her boyfriend. There's a lot more to be done before Steve can thoroughly forgive her, but this was at least a start.   
  
  
                                                                                     ~*~   
  
  
The next person to sit down opposite him is Bucky.   
  
Steve says silent, and Bucky looks at him like he wants to speak, or implode, or maybe both.   
  
“Okay, I'm just going to get this all out and then you can punch me, or ask questions or whatever, okay?” He says, and he takes a breath. “I broke up with Pietro because you were right, it wasn't fair to him and it wasn't fair to you and I don't like him, not as much as I like you, anyway, and I shouldn't have gone on that date I should have cancelled, but I've been stood up before so I gave it a chance and the girls are convincing, y'know? I'm not a kid, I know I can make my own decisions and do my own thing but I guess-- I guess I thought that they had a point, that if we broke up it would be messy but it ended up being messy anyway and Steve I've fucked up, big time, more than I think I ever have before and-- and--”   
  
“You're turning blue,” Steve says. “Breathe.”   
  
Bucky takes a breath. He looks at Steve, and he says. “Not to be cliché, but I think I like you more than I've ever liked anyone else, and it… It messed me up.”   
  
“This isn't a bad romcom, Bucky.” Steve points out.   
  
“I know that,” Bucky says. “I wouldn't be this cheesy if it wasn't the truth, Steve.”   
  
Steve considers that for a moment, silent. “I spoke to Thor.” He says.   
  
Bucky's face flashes with confusion, but then he gives a little nod. “About this?”   
  
“About all of it.” Steve nods. “And he said I should forgive you, but that I shouldn't go soft on you. Because you did some bad things but only because you listened to other people.”   
  
“That's still no excuse, I'm a grown man--” Bucky tries to interrupt, but Steve quietens him.   
  
“He also pointed out that I still really like you, for some reason,” Steve says. Bucky smiles like he wants to grin but he doesn't think it's appropriate. “And I think… I think I'd still like to date you. Just - I'm gonna need time. Probably a lot of time. Because you were an ass.”   
  
“I was an ass.” Bucky agrees, staring at Steve with hope filled eyes.   
  
“And you hurt me.” Steve continues, shifting in his seat and tapping his pen against the table.   
  
“I'm so sorry, Steve.”   
  
Steve looks at him, his smile a little hopeful but his gray eyes sad, and he sighs softly. “Time. I just need time.”   
  
Bucky nods. “As long as you need. A week, a month, a year. Whatever.”   
  
Steve gives a little nod. He fidgets with the pen in his hand. “We can still watch Netflix, in the mean time.” He says softly. “They just added The OC.”   
  
Bucky really does grin then, and he nods, hair falling out of his bun and into his face. “Alright. Believe it or not, I've never seen it.”   
  
“Me neither.” Steve shrugs. “But apparently there's 92 episodes and a lot of shirtless Adam Brody, so…”   
  
  
                                                                            ~*~   
  
  
It's dark. Steve sits in the living room in his pajamas, glasses on and tablet on his lap, sketching out ideas for another piece whilst he waits for Bucky to come home from work. They're onto season 2 of the OC. It's good, in that cheesy 2000s teen drama way. There's the click of a door, and footsteps, but it's not the front door. It's inside the apartment, apparently, and Steve frowns, looking up to see Natasha appearing in the doorway, red hair in pigtails over his shoulders, an eye mask perched on her forehead.   
  
“I'm sorry, Steve.” She says. She looks like a ghost, pale skin reflected by the light of the television.   
  
“I know.” He says.   
  
She pauses. She nods. Steve watches her turn and walk away, his attention diverted by the sound of the front door opening and Bucky coming in, whistling as he goes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have things set to rights. Mostly.
> 
> Whilst this fic isn't finished, it is nearing a close, so I'm asking now if there's anything you guys would like to see me write after this! Sequels, continuations or brand new prompts, I'm open to anything! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go back to sleep,” he says softly, kissing Bucky’s cheek as he stands, lingering in the doorway before he goes to his own bed.

Things are, weirdly, as they once were before. Before Bucky kissed him and Natasha and Peggy convinced him to go out with Pietro and well-- all of that. It's like they've managed to skip back in time, to when things were a hell of a lot simpler. 

Steve is glad. He likes things being simple.

A few things, though, have changed enough for Steve to be able to know that no, they definitely aren't in the past. Howard spends more and more time in the apartment, never staying the night but showing up after Peggy returns from work and not leaving until late; Natasha and Sam go on a date, which Steve kind of assumed was going to happen, but still, it's nice to see the two of them getting along so well; and finally, that damn cat has kittens. Kittens, which she decides to birth in S teve’s  sock drawer.

“I absolutely hate you.” He says to Bucky, though his eyes are on the tiny, little, striped sausages that can't really be called kittens. They're all mewling,  all... six  of them? Seven? Mrs. Whiskerson looks up at them, blinks her big yellow eyes, and then looks down at her kittens.

“You don't,” Bucky says, somewhat smug. Yeah, he's right - Steve doesn't hate him. But he does hate the fact that of all the sock drawers in the entire apartment, the cat (Bucky’s cat, which Bucky invited into their home and fed, the cat which Bucky named, and apparently did not check for a multitude of babies) chose his sock drawer for her maternity hospital.

“Get them out, Bucky,” Steve says, arching his eyebrows as he looks up a t  his friend. He's trying to look as disapproving as possible, which isn't easy when he's about a foot smaller than Bucky. 

“I can't - she has to bond with them first,” Bucky explains, to which Steve narrows his eyes. Bond with them? How long does that take?

“She isn't a hamster, she isn't going to eat them,” Steve argues. Bucky just shrugs and very carefully pets Mrs. Whiskerson’s head.

“Nice going, Mrs. Whiskerson.” He smiles, and he leaves the room.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts after him. “Bucky, get these kittens out of here! I hate you!”

“You don't!” Comes the reply from down the hall, and Steve deflates with a defeated sounding sigh.

“I don't.” He echoes, rubbing the back of his neck.

~*~

In the background, Nate and Vanessa are taking some kind of romantic walk, and having some kind of conversation, a serious one, Steve thinks, but then again he isn't sure. He hasn't been paying attention since Bucky sat a little closer tonight and draped his arm over the back of the couch.

Steve can feel his hand, just about touching the back of his neck, fingers flexing every so often. He shifts and leans closer, his arm moving around Steve’s shoulders.

“Bucky.” He says softly, sternly, his eyes flicking to Bucky’s face.

He looks at Steve like he's wounded, but quickly tries to cover it up again, sitting up straight and moving his hand to his lap. “Not yet?” He asks, looking a t  Steve like a child who’s been scolded, his brows drawn in.

“Not yet.” Steve agrees, leaning his head on his hand as he tried to focus.

~*~ 

It's noon when Steve drags himself out of bed and goes to make coffee, and is met with Bucky, his hair tied up high in a ponytail, wearing shorts and a sleeveless tee that might just be for Thor's band - it's a little too faded to tell. And anyway, Steve doesn't want to be caught staring.

“Are you going to the gym?” He asks, pouring himself a  cup of coffee.

Bucky takes the coffee away and replaces it with a glass of water and an apple. Steve is too tired to try and fight him, but he does manage a noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

“No,” Bucky says. “We are. It's been brought to my attention, Rogers, that you can't fight for shit. So, I'm gonna teach you to fight. Well, actually, Thor’s going to teach you. He was a semi-professional wrestler before he squeezed his ass into skinny jeans and started a band, y'know.”

Steve didn't know that, but he supposed now he does. And it might be kind of nice to see Thor again, so…

“Fine.” He grumbles. He takes the apple and takes a bite. “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you're dressed, so hurry up.” Bucky nods. Steve sighs, though he does duck under Bucky's arm to grab his coffee before he goes to his room to change.

~*~

“Steven!” Thor bellows from across the room, raising a hand when he sees him, quickly followed by Bucky. “And James - I'm very glad to see you both.”

“Good to see you too, buddy.” Bucky smiles, letting Thor pull him into a hug and clap him on the back. “Thanks for helping us out.”

“Well, had I known Steven was getting into so many fights I might have offered my services sooner,” Thor says, looking to Steve with a grin. “I think it’s time we teach you to fight and win, is it not?”

Steve  rolls  his eyes. He’s been doing just fine fighting on his own for the last twenty-odd years, but whatever. He doesn’t mind the help. And anyway, after Sam had found out that Steve’s idea of ‘out of the apartment’ had been the coffee shop across the street, he had given him a look that had told Steve to stop being an idiot. Surely this counts as out of the apartment, right?

They start with punches, namely how and where to throw them. Steve is confident he can do this pretty well, but Thor shows him another way, how to use his small size to his advantage. He pits him against Bucky, who seems reluctant to hurt Steve or work him too hard, but eager to see him learn, to be able to protect himself. 

It’s hard work, and they don’t get too far on their first day, but Thor assures him he’s doing well. “If you keep coming back, Steven, you will continue to improve. I have every faith in you.” He beams, handing him a bottle of water.

Steve chugs it, and Bucky grins, settling an arm around his shoulder. “You looked great out there, Stevie.” he grins, leaning close to him, just a little.

Steve sets the bottle down, gaze dropping to the floor as he moves away, ducking out from under B ucky’s  arm. He doesn’t have to see his face to know that it hurts, and he almost regrets it, but when he looks to Thor he can see something like approval there. All three of them know that it hasn’t been long enough. 

“Thanks,” he says, reaching for his bag. “Not so bad yourself.” 

It’s the last thing he says before he leaves so he doesn't make it any more awkward. He knows it has to be done, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

~*~

“It just hasn’t been long enough, Peg, y’know?”

At first, after her apology, Steve had kept Peggy at arm's length - he certainly hadn’t discussed this stuff with her. But then he had found that he needed someone to talk to, and he felt bad pushing all of his shit onto Sam all of the time - Sam, who still had a full-time job and now a girlfriend, too. So he had turned to Peggy, but he had done so with a warning - no advice, no meddling. Just an ear, to listen. She had agreed without hesitation.

And now she sits opposite him at the coffee shop, nodding. Steve can barely move, his muscles aching and his bones feeling too heavy after their gym session the day before. He brings his coffee to his lips with a wince. “I appreciate the effort, but it’s just - it’s too soon.”

“He said he’d take as long as you needed.” Peggy reminds him. It’s neither advice nor meddling, so Steve doesn’t mind. He sighs softly.

“I just hope he meant it.”

~*~

Steve sits at the bar, staring at the bottom of his empty glass.

This time he hasn’t been drinking - he’s sworn off of that, actually, for good reasons that he proved to himself the last time he drank. He’s been on lime and sodas all night, which is why he is relatively sober, but his friends are sitting at their booth, wasted, despite the lights in the club being on and the staff coming out to start to clean up. Steve supposes they’re allowed to stay by their connection to Bucky, and Bucky alone.

Bucky, who had been chatting to Steve up until a few moments ago, when he had made a comment about going to bed after his shift was up, leaning onto the bar and leering in Steve's direction, and Steve had ducked his head because it’s still too soon. Bucky had made an excuse and disappeared through a side door, leaving Steve to examine the ice cubes in his glass.

A girl Steve doesn’t recognize begins to wipe down the bar. She looks at Steve for a long moment. “I’m not getting involved in whatever angst is going on, but-- he’s obviously sorry, for whatever he did. And he’s quite obviously in love with you.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t sound like ‘not getting involved’ to me.” He snaps.

“Whatever, dude.” She says. She looks like she turned 21 yesterday if she ever has, and Steve hates her. “I’m just saying.”

she continues wiping down the bar, leaving Steve in peace. He goes back to the table to listen to his friends and their drunken ramblings.

~*~

Steve puts his hands on his hips, looking down at the kittens. Their baby blue eyes have faded, changed into a mixture of greens and golds and yellows, and they’ve been shedding their baby teeth around the place for a while now.

They’ve also gotten really good at pouncing. And jumping. And climbing.

“I’m going to rehome them,” Bucky says, pulling a little gray one into his lap, letting it gnaw at his fingers (with few results). “Underhand, of course--”

“Bucky, if you rehome them, then they’re pets.” Peggy points out, also standing with her hands on her hips. She’s called an apartment meeting to address the issue of the kittens (who’ve had jabs and flea treatments and all the things a _pet_  gets), the first of its kind, and hopefully the last. “And if the super finds out we have pets--”

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, and he sighs. “But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to just kick them out--”

Natasha stands, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I have an idea,” she says. “Give me half an hour.”

And with that, she leaves the apartment, ending their first official apartment meeting.

~*~

Steve falls asleep during one of their midnight TV watching sessions. He can’t help it; the gym is tiring him out, and he’s been working extra lately to cover for various members of staff. He doesn’t mind because he loves what he does, but it’s difficult.

When he wakes he shifts and finds his head in Bucky’s lap; he blinks, frowning softly, and then he yawns. He must have put himself there because he knows Bucky wouldn’t have moved him. 

He looks up at Bucky, and his heart twists a little. He looks perfect in sleep, peaceful, almost angelic, in a sinfully hot kind of way. But what makes Steve's chest feel tight is the fact that he seems to have fallen asleep in the least comfortable position, still wearing his jacket and his shoes, no blanket or pillow to make sleep easier.

Steve must have fallen asleep, and Bucky hadn’t moved. It’s sweet - too sweet. 

When Steve sits up, Bucky stirs, frowning a little. Steve covers him in the blanket, hoping it’ll make up for the past few hours of discomfort. “Go back to sleep,” he says softly, kissing Bucky’s cheek as he stands, lingering in the doorway before he goes to his own bed.

~*~

Sam and Howard both have kittens. They haven’t taken them off Bucky, they’ve removed stray kittens that they found on the street, naturally. Clint has one, as does Tony. Pepper, Thor, and Loki have one each, and that’s it - there is only one kitten remaining, and Bucky puts both it and Mrs. Whiskerson out on the fire escape (where he’s _accidentally_  left a blanket and an ashtray, that has _accidentally_  filled up with rainwater).

“At least they’re all in the area, Mrs. Whiskerson,” Bucky commiserates. The cat doesn’t seem all that bothered; they had been running her ragged the past month or so. “Maybe you’ll all meet up again on the streets, somewhere.”

Mrs. Whiskerson blinks at them and then turns, walking down the steps. Her kitten follows, mewling after her. Steve pats Bucky on the back gently. “And you can see them literally any time you want to, so. Could be worse.”

“Could be.” Bucky nods. “Natasha is the best.”

~*~

Steve throws a punch and ducks under Bucky’s arm as he moves to block, quickly stepping away as he knocks Bucky's feet out from under him; he falls and hits the mat, grunting as he does so. Steve is getting better, and it’s resulting in a few more bruises for Bucky.

Steve has been training with Thor pretty much exclusively for the last six or seven months, getting his sleep during the day and heading out at night. They see each other for their midnight screenings of this week’s trashy TV show, of course, but training has been just Steve and Thor for a while now.

And it’s kind of nice to show Bucky that he knows what he’s doing. He can defend himself now, as he’s going to use it an excuse to pick a fight whenever and wherever he wants to. Not that he’s ever really needed one before, but still.

He uses his entire weight to roll Bucky onto his back, straddling him as he sits down on his stomach, Bucky’s arms pinned to the mat. “This is the point where I’d punch you, repeatedly, but seeing as you make a living off of that face, I won’t.”

Bucky snorts softly. “I make a living off of my amazing bartending skills.”

“No, that’s how you make a wage,” Steve argues. “You think you’d get tips if you weren’t so pretty?”

It’s the first time Steve’s said something like that in a while, but he’s been thinking about it a lot lately. Bucky looks at him, hopeful, and Steve leans down to kiss him, softly, almost chastely. It’s the best kiss, better than even their first.

“I think I want you to take me on a date.” he says to Bucky, looking down at him, speaking slowly and carefully.

Bucky nods, just a little. “A date.” he echoes. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Steve murmurs. He smiles, shifting to let Bucky sit up. “But you should know, I don’t put out until the third date, so don’t go getting your hopes up.”

Bucky grins, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “ How  about we just take it slow?”

Steve nods, leaning in to kiss him again, a little harder than before, a little deeper. “I think I can handle that.” he breathes, a smile curving his lips as they meet  Bucky's  once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is - the finale! This series spiralled wildly out of control from what it was going to be, but I've had a lot of fun writing it. I'd like to give another huge thank you to my beta over at [findthefanfic](http://findthefanfic.tumblr.com) who has been very patient with me, and helpful to boot! I'd also like to thank everyone who has supported this fic with kudos and comments - I might not reply to each and every comment, but I appreciate them all so much!
> 
> It's going to be a little while until I return to this series (I have something new and exciting up my sleeve!) but know that I will, eventually. More of this to come!
> 
> Thank you once again, and a reminder that questions, comments and prompts are welcome below, or over at [my tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
